


Tragic Heroine

by KBates



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Devious Villain, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Hollywood, Love, Orgasm Denial, Plucky Heroine, Romance, Sarcasm, Sex Games, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 11:19:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KBates/pseuds/KBates
Summary: Sarah’s told by her director, that she must remain celibate while she films for the role of Ophelia. Jareth decides to tempt her a little, while throwing in a wager. A filthy romantic comedy…some butchering of Shakespeare involved…along with lots of sexual frustration.





	Tragic Heroine

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I’m going to quit posting E/ M rated stories on ffnet—so this fic will not appear there.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth or associated characters.

****

****\--

Sarah Williams holds her hands to her hips and glares at her director. “This is total bullshit. You can’t get involved in my sex life, Luke. I’m sure that falls under sexual harassment.” She gives him a vicious glare. “I’ll call my lawyer and check, just in case.”

Luke, the relatively young director who’s taken on a big project, pales considerably. “You’re playing Ophelia, Sarah—did you know that actors who play Hamlet at the Globe are advised to remain celibate, until the very last day?”

Sarah gives him a scoff. “This is Hollywood—not the Globe. Hamlet isn’t a Danish prince, he’s a multinational conglomerate heir, and Ophelia isn’t an innocent daughter of the King’s counselor, she’s an Adderall addicted party girl from the Upper East Side.”

Luke winces when he hears the storyline summarized as such garbage—still, this is his first big directorial project, and beggars can’t be choosers. “I know the storyline is…” he pauses and makes a desperate gesture with his hands, “… _ridiculous_. But we may just pull this off if we give our best. Ophelia is entranced by Hamlet—yet he’s so caught up with his obsessions that he doesn’t indulge her desires. She’s frustrated, you know, and wound up.”

“Can’t she use a vibrator? Or can she only be satisfied by Hamlet’s magic dick?” Sarah deadpans. _Did men truly believe that women couldn’t satisfy their urges with battery operated devices_? Utter bastards.

Luke let’s out a strangled laugh—when put like that, the storyline sounds even more ludicrous. “Imagine she’s tried everything, alright? Nothing apart from Hamlet’s magic dick will get her off. That animalistic need needs to come across with sincerity when we film that one scene.”

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Sarah gives him a look that says ‘are you fucking serious?’ As with most Hollywood movies, there’s an epic sex scene that borders on pornographic, but not quite, towards the end…right before Ophelia jumps to her demise from her luxury high rise. The whole drowning in the river scene wouldn’t work, as committing suicide in the East River would come across as sadly hilarious instead of dramatic.

Still—Sarah’s not going to be bullied. She shakes her head. “No. What I do with my private life isn’t up to you.”

“Fine,” Luke concedes. “But you’ll have to take it up with the producer who made this…request.”

It’s Sarah’s turn to pale considerably. She’s heard that the mystery producer for this project is a total shark, even if this is his first project. “Fine.”

\--

_(Corner table in a popular high-end restaurant, Hollywood Hills, LA)…_

She stops herself from growling as she looks at her phone—why did producers have to be such dicks? Couldn’t they be on time for once? She notices a new message from Toby and just as she’s about to tap the WhatsApp icon, she hears a chillingly familiar laugh.

“The look of fury suits you well, _Sarah_.”

Her mouth falls open as she looks at him. Her old enemy stands beside her with an all too familiar smirk on his face, one that shows just a hint of the fangs he has for teeth. He’s dressed in a cobalt blue suit that’s molded to his slim figure—it’s stylishly fashionable…yet, there’s something old fashioned about it. His eyes are as unnerving as ever—his face a sharp and skeletal—his hair…she notices his hair is a tad different. It’s a dark shade of blond, not silver, and it’s cut short…save for a shock of hair that falls on his forehead.

Without waiting for an invitation, he sits down, choosing the chair next to her instead of the one across. “How are you, darling girl?”

_How are you? Darling girl?_

She swallows before speaking, her throat suddenly dry—he looks… _famished_.

“What are you doing here?” she asks with trepidation—a small part of her mind is screaming at her that she knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.

His eyes soften a little. “Luke told me of your concerns—that you wished to speak to me.” He can’t help but smile when her eyes widen comically. “Here I am—ever your slave.”

“ _You’re_ the mystery producer?” she blurts out. Her blood runs cold when he nods in confirmation. _Wait a second_ …that meant—! “You’re the one who came up with the no sex policy?”

A slow, dark chuckle. “Not exactly sex, my sweet. Satisfaction—fulfilment. You will not come for the duration of the filming process.”

Her temper flares. _Was he fucking serious? He shows up in her life after 15 years of radio silence to police her orgasms?_ “Fuck you—you have no power—”

“I wouldn’t complete the thought, precious,” he interrupts. The humor in his eyes turns cruel—the smile on his face turns feral. “I could rip your burgeoning career into shreds…” he laughs, “…Oh _yes_ , precious thing. You don’t hold enough star power to disobey a producer, not yet—and I will make sure all of Hollywood learns that Sarah Williams is impossible to work with.”

She breathes harshly, her temper getting the better of her—she grits her teeth and clenches her fists. “Why?”

He shrugs elegantly. “You turned my world upside once, I thought I’d return the favor…now that you’re all… _deliciously_ …grown up.” He rakes his mismatched eyes up and down her form. “Additionally, I believe it’ll help your performance and grant you the fame you so… _crave_.”

“How would you even know?” she asks—seriously, who does he think he is? The omniscient god of all orgasms? “For all you know, I could be fucking half of Hollywood…hell, _all_ of Hollywood.”

A dangerous emotion flashes in his eyes, his lips curl with cruelty. Ever so slowly, he places a naked, long fingered hand on the table and conjures up a cylindrical crystal bauble. “I have my ways. I suggest you remain honest as I am known to be vengeful. Brutally so.”

The sight of his hands draws her in—mesmerizes her. “What if I drop out of the project?”

He replies with a vicious grin, “I offer you your dreams a second time, you ungrateful girl, and you choose to walk away?” He laughs long and hard, as if thoroughly entertained. “I wonder what it is that you’re afraid of, my darling.”

She scoffs, albeit weakly. “I’m not afraid—just not interested in being sexually policed by you.”

A scorching hot look. “Ophelia’s role is significant, but limited—filming will only last four weeks. I don’t believe what I’m asking is unreasonable…not for the rewards you shall reap.”

A spark of interest lights up in her chest. “What rewards?”

With a calculating gleam in his eyes, he replies, “Awards, accolades, fame, power—that’s what you seek, isn’t it?”

At those words, she rethinks his offer. At 30, she still hasn’t climbed her way to the top of the glitterati food chain. Her roles have been limited to that of the ‘ex-girlfriend’ or ‘significant friend with restricted dialogue’ or some such. Time’s a ticking in the brutal industry of acting—she needs to nab an award or two before being forgotten altogether. Or else she’ll be another ‘child or a famous actress who never made it herself.’

If Jareth can get her an award for this awful butchering of Hamlet…then why not adhere to his demands? Many male and female actors fucked their way to the top, she’d be doing the opposite. Not getting off for four weeks is easy enough— _isn’t it_? Hadn’t she hit a dry spell once when she’d gone for six months without having sex? Three, without using her trusty vibrator? Of course, it’d been after a particularly bad breakup so she hadn’t wanted to be touched at all…but it _had_ been possible and she hadn’t exploded by the end of it.

“I sense you’ve changed your mind, my darling. Am I correct?” His words are deceptively light, but convey the tiniest bit of anticipation.

“How do you know I’ll get awards and fame?” she asks with a healthy dose of suspicion. “Going by the storyline, this movie is going to be _epically_ panned by critics.”

A wolfish grin. “This movie shall be glorious, my sweet. I can assure you of that.”

She rolls her eyes. What does a faerie king know about movies anyway? “I’m not a naïve idiot, Jareth—how can you guarantee that?”

A flash of emotion glimmers in his pale eyes when she calls him by his name. “Magic.”

 _Alright, Williams_ —she tells herself— _you’re either making the dumbest mistake of your life or the best decision you’ve ever made_. “How can I trust you?”

His impassive face takes on an expression she’s never seen before—perhaps it’s relief. “Were I not to live up to my bargain…I would be your _slave_.”

The way he says _slave_ brands an erotic image in her mind. Her breathing deepens and her face turns red. “Seriously?” She doesn’t know whether to be scandalized or excited.

A menacing gleam of dual eyes. “I see you’re already enjoying the prospect, precious thing.” The smile on his face turns serpentine, his voice as sweet as honey. “You win either way—you become a living goddess in this capricious human world of yours, or you have me in chains for eternity.”

Well, jeez. How dramatic. “Something tells me it’s never going to be as simple as that, Jareth—not with _you_. You need to put something on the table.”

A laconic brow. “Oh? What could you… _possibly_ …want of me?”

His tone insinuates something obscene—it burns another erotic image in her mind, making her breath hitch. “Accept the same terms—if I’m not allowed to get off for four weeks, neither are you.”

A slow, melodious laugh. “Precious thing,” he murmurs, “…you are indeed, not a naïve idiot. I shall accept based on your willingness to… _spend time_ …with me.”

“Fine,” she snaps, the innuendos not helping her rampant imagination.

A terrifying smile. “Very well…”

She raises her brows, a shiver running down her spine. “Very well, _what_?”

He gives her an indulgent look. “I thought you’d want to know what would happen should you lose, precious thing—but clearly, you’re not concerned with those terms.”

Her blood runs cold. _Idiot—idiot—idiot_! “What…” her voice drifts off, she’s not sure she wants to know the answer to this question. “What would happen if I lose?”

A terrifying grin. “Don’t look so afraid, my darling. I wouldn’t hurt you… _much_.”

Taking in a few deep breaths, she keeps her bubbling panic at bay. “That’s what this is about—revenge?”

He stands up and gives her a look that’s almost…conciliatory…with just the right amount of condescension. His face remains impassive, but his voice is bathed with intense emotion as he speaks, “ _This_ is far more than revenge, my darling. Much, _much_ more.”

\--

_(One week in)…_

“This is way easier than I thought it’d be—be prepared to lose, faerie boy,” she says with a smug smile, before settling down on her couch.

He doesn’t respond—only looks at her, studies her. _Oh, precious, do you truly believe it’ll be so easy_? Perhaps it’s time he stepped in and made it interesting.

She doesn’t observe the intensity of his gaze as she runs through her options. So engrossed is she in deciding whether she should play Master Chef or Narcos, that she doesn’t notice a determined Goblin King sit next to her, his arm casually brushing hers—the intimate contact makes her jump.

“The hell are you doing?”

Cocking his head to the side, he smiles at her as a shock of golden hair falls over a pale eye. “Upping the stakes, _Sa-rah_.”

“Upping the—”

“Hush,” he says, ghosting a long index finger over her lip. “I can’t make it too easy for you, or the game won’t be fair…and I know how much you _prize_ fairness, precious.”

Eyes wide, she opens her mouth to speak, but she’s afraid her lips will touch his finger. Her heartrate spikes as he closes in the distance between them, close but not touching—his pale, unusual eyes peer into hers.

He runs his eyes down her body before settling back on her face—“I can feel your blood pump hot, precious thing,” he murmurs, fingers moving as if he’s going to caress her cheek…but he only smiles as she leans in ever so slightly. “You may pretend all you like, but we both know the truth…don’t we?”

“I…” her voice dies out. She’s caught in a catch 22—if she pulls away, she’ll prove his point. If she remains where she is…well…she’ll have to stop herself from catching his finger with her teeth and sucking on the digit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A delighted, rumbling laugh—one that makes her bones vibrate. “I’m not going to push you to admit how you feel, _Sa-rah_.” A wicked grin spreads across his face when he sees her sag in relief. “…but allow me to admit _my_ feelings.”

His feelings…? He _has_ feelings?

Her heart beats so loud she thinks it’ll jump right out of her chest—her breaths escape in shallow pants. She closes her eyes—the bastard hasn’t said a single sexual word, he hasn’t even touched her and yet…she grits her teeth. “Keep this up and you’re disqualified.”

The same rumbling laugh. “No, my sweet—I do believe one of the stipulations of our agreement was that I spend time with you. We never had any… _conditions_ …on what would occur during.” He leans in to whisper in her ear, “…but fear not. I won’t touch you…without your consent.”

She shivers as his breath fans across the sensitive skin of her neck. She feels her nipples strain against the fabric of her bra…a low throbbing settles between her legs. _Stupid, Williams—you set yourself up for this one_! What had ever given her the impression that he’d play fair—a small voice in her head tells her that she’d known all along that he wouldn’t. And she hadn’t cared.

She feels him shift on the couch…what is he? Opening her eyes for a small peek, she yelps when she realizes that he’s straddling her…almost…his knees on either side of her thighs—the thick hard length of his erection almost pressed against her lower stomach.

“You’re not going to have it,” she says, voice gravelly. “My consent,” she growls has he raises a playful brow in question.

Giving her a knowing grin, he swoops in—his lips almost touch her ear. “I don’t need to touch you, sweet,” he murmurs, voice low and musical. “I can read the hunger in your eyes—you want me, precious thing. Oh, yes…” he drags out the syllables as he speaks. “You want to feel the caress of my fingers as I run my hands along your thighs…my lips on your breasts, hot, absolutely voracious. I wouldn’t be gentle with you, Sarah. I _couldn’t_.”

Her breathing grows hot and labored. She screws her eyes shut, not wanting to see the heat of his voice reflected in his gaze. “I’d suckle you until your nipples turned red and purple—until your breasts ached with heaviness. I’d drag my teeth across your stomach, biting into the soft flesh below your navel…all the while I’d hold you down. Restrain you for my taking…and I wouldn’t take you for a long while, sweet. I’d torment you until you begged me for release…”

The low throbbing in her thighs turns painful—liquid heat starts seeping into the fabric of her panties. “Trust me, you’d be the one begging,” the hoarseness of her voice does nothing to hide the lust flowing through her veins.

“Oh, precious,” he croons—inching even closer. “How I adore your façade, but it’s pointless. I would make you beg until you lost every scrap of dignity.”

The cruelty in his words should have functioned as a bucket of cold water, dousing her flame—but it doesn’t. She snaps her eyes open and shoves him on the chest. “In your dreams, Jareth.”

A suggestive wink. “In _my_ dreams, precious, I chain you down in a gilded ballroom and feast on you…while my guests watch.”

Her mouth falls open in shock. His words automatically make the scene play out in her head—him, unyielding, cruel, holding a horned mask. While his guests…she goes completely red in the face. _Oh God_ …a small moan escapes her lips.

His eyes hold dark amusement. “I wouldn’t let them have you, sweet…I’d save that for myself.”

“Stop,” she chokes out, her body now trembling. Taking in a few harsh breaths, she glares at him…or tries to. Her lids are heavy and eyes dark. _Still_ …the damned smug smile on his face irritates her enough to sober her up a little. “Have you considered a career as a phone sex operator? You’d be really good at it.”

\--

_(Week and a half)…_

“Passion, Sarah—frenzied passion. You’re trying to get Hamlet to see reason, yet you’re a bit uncomfortable by the oral sex references.”

Her co-star smiles weakly at her as Luke rebukes her for the umpteenth time during the filming of the scene.

Sarah grits her teeth—all she’s been able to think of is Jareth’s filthy words…and the powerful response he’d evoked. _Channel your frustration, Williams_ —she tells herself—that’s the only way to make this work.

“Ground control to Sarah—get in position.”

Shaking herself up, she does as her director asks, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him. “I’m ready.”

“Between a woman’s legs, take 15. Action.” Snap.

\--

_(Two weeks in)…_

 Dragging herself to her living room, she collapses on the sofa—she’d asked her trainer to be particularly brutal today…and he’d complied. She’s got an almost nude scene coming up in a week and she can’t afford any unsightly lumps.

“You look as if you’ve adequately exerted yourself, my darling.”

Groaning, she pulls herself up to a sitting position and glares at the intruder. Sexy intruder dressed in dark jeans and a crisp white t-shirt. Damn he looked good in casual clothes, good enough to… _Get a hold of yourself_ , Williams—she yells at herself internally.

“What do you want?” she keeps her voice light.

A toothy grin. “A great… _variety_ …of things, precious,” he croons slowly, a brow raised. “Most of which involve you.”

That voice… _GOD_ …that voice did things to her that her ex couldn’t do with his… _never mind_. She gives herself a mental slap— _don’t even go there_. “The whole _precious_ thing is ridiculous you know. Makes me think preciousssssssssssssssssss, we wants the preciousssssssssssssss.”

The Goblin King looks more than a little bewildered. “Are you having an epilepsy attack?”

She grins at that—Mr. Mystery Producer hadn’t watched that movie. “Do you even watch movies?” she asks, suddenly curious.

A cursory shrug. “No.”

 “Aha,” she exclaims, jumping up only to wince in pain. “Arghhhhh.”

He assesses her with a narrow gaze. “Are you sure you’re not having an epilepsy attack?”

Screwing up her face, she gives him a look that says ‘shut up.’ “I’m in pain, okay? Marshal worked my body to a quivering mess.” The words are out of her mouth before she realizes their double meaning.

An icy cold stare. “Really?” His tone is deceptively soft. “I haven’t checked up on you regularly, but have you… _lost_?”

She shivers—wincing again as her muscles protest. “Marshal’s my trainer. He made me do this new routine that doubles as torture. Forget waterboarding, the sadists in Guantanamo should use CrossFit instead.”

He smiles, something dangerous flashes in his eyes. “Pity…I’d thought the game was over and we could move to more… _interesting_ …things.”

 _Ugh_ —there he goes with that phone sex voice again. “Don’t bother with innuendos today—I’m going to be in deep, deep pain for a while.”

He ponders her words, a brow raised. “Perhaps I can help you out…I have minor healing powers that may be able to provide some comfort.”

“Ha!” she scoffs, arms crossed. “You must think I’m the dumbest person alive.”

His eyes twinkle—“Not _the_ dumbest, no.”

Glaring at his response, she turns her back to him and begins walking away. Mr. Narcissist would probably hate being ignored— _take that, GK_. “Whatever, I’m taking a shower and heading to bed.”

\--

_(An hour later, Sarah’s bedroom)…_

She jumps as she hears a familiar, menacing chuckle just as she’s turned out the lights and is ready to jump into bed. “Jesus!”

A quiet laugh. “Hardly, my darling.”

She hears a rustle of fabric as he moves about the room—dammit, it’s too dark. Why’d she have to get those black out blinds?! “You’re beginning to get creepier by the second, Jareth.”

The rustling stops, she can almost feel him turn around, fixing those fathomless eyes on her. “How so, sweet?”

_Wait a second, did he sound closer?_

She gulps—the lack of vision heightening her senses so that every sound becomes amplified. “First, you decide to play producer. And now, you’re out to intimidate me with…weird…sex…things!”

He doesn’t respond for a few moments…before bursting out into genuine laughter. “How am I… _intimidating_ …you with weird sex things, _Sa-rah_?” He draws out her name teasingly. “I must say, I am quite disappointed in you—you used to be so brave.” A mocking tsk. “And now? You hide under the covers.”

She scoffs, weakly. “Reverse psychology ain’t gonna work this time, GK.” She twists and turns, trying to figure out where the bastard’s gone so she can prepare herself, in case he… _in case he what_? Jumps on her and rips her pajamas right off her body? Oh dear God, why is _that_ the first thing she can think of—she can almost _feel_ his hands on her.

_Stop with the sexual fantasies, Williams! It’s not going to lead to anything good._

“Hmm,” he hums, a sing-song quality to his deep, lilting voice. “I can see you, precious thing, turning around, trying to find me.” He laughs—a mélange of amusement, cruelty, and disdain.

She winces—the sound of his voice makes her hot and wet. The sound of his _laugh_ —oh God—it awakens a sense of wanting that’s unrivaled. “S…so you can see in the dark?” she questions, cursing herself for the stammer in her voice.

And just like that, she feels him close in—his lips barely touching the sensitive skin of her ear. “I only wish to ease your pain. Allow me to help, you stubborn girl.”

Her heart beats erratically in her ribcage. Every cell in her body is hyper alert of his presence… _so close_. “How can you help?”

He tortures her a bit—refusing to answer for a few seconds.

“Jareth!”

Rich laughter vibrates against the wood paneled walls of her bedroom. “I’m here—don’t be alarmed.”

She feels her monstrous, California king sized bed dip a little as he climbs in, settling next to her. What the—? “Erm…what’re you up to?” She trembles as he places a naked hand onto her shoulder and exerts just a little bit of pressure.

“Turn over.” There’s a touch of aggression in his voice.

“WHAT?”

A harsh sigh. “I shall not repeat myself again. Turn over— _now_.”

 _I shall not repeat myself again_? Who does the bastard think he is—a CrossFit trainer with a ridiculously posh accent?

“What the hell—” she screeches when she feels his arms maneuver her body so that she’s turned over, lying down on her stomach. “Jareth!” How can someone so lean be so fucking strong?!

He laughs quietly at her outrage. “I’m only going to heal your muscles, precious thing. Do I have your permission?”

Her mouth falls open—she’s at a loss for words. She’d had every intention of shoving him off of her bed, but the question makes her rethink that course of action. He’s being polite enough to ask her permission—shouldn’t she be polite enough to grant it? After all, he’s only going to heal her…and boy, could she use some healing at the moment.

“Okay,” she mumbles, ignoring the small voice in her head that laughs at her pathetic resolve.

\--

_(Twenty minutes later)…_

“Oh GOD. Yessssssssssssssss.”

“Oh, Ooooh, Oh FUCK. Don’t stop.”

Jareth stares at the mortal woman, pondering how she’d managed to turn the tables while lying down. He wonders how he’d become so stupid—had all the blood rushed to a certain part of his anatomy, leaving his brain to rot? He had planned on seducing her with a massage—making her tremble with frustration—before laughing cruelly and leaving. But _she_ …she’d rendered him powerless with her moans.

Their wager is getting to him—lately, he’s had fantasies involving…well…even he’d never done some of the things he’s dreamt about.

“Right there, Jareth….oh…” A whimpering sound.

At that sound, Jareth jumps out of her bed—not trusting himself any longer. Cursing himself, he vanishes out of her bedroom and into his own, before calling for a pack of ice for his…aching appendage.

_It is going to be a long two weeks…_

\--

_(Two and a half weeks in)…_

“Channel all your frustration into this kiss, Sarah—you need him to survive, Ophelia is a crack addict and Hamlet is her crack pipe.”

_Ophelia is a crack addict and Hamlet is her crack pipe?! Good God. Shakespeare is probably turning in his grave._

“Okay, Luke. I get it.”

“Jonathan. You hate yourself for giving in—she’s a distraction. The inherent misogynist in Hamlet hates succumbing to a woman, but he can’t help it.”

“Hate kiss—take 1. Action.” Snap.

As per the script, Sarah half jumps, half throws herself at her costar—her arms around his neck. She molds her lips onto his with just the right amount of force, her eyes closed.

Jonathan responds, arms around her waist, crushing her to him.

“CUT. Stop. Stop.” Luke’s disgruntled voice cuts in. “I need some tongue—not porn levels of tongue, but you gotta show some passion.”

Sarah sighs—kissing scenes were always awkward—but at least Jonathan seemed to have brushed, flossed, and used mouth wash. “Okay, how do we do this?” she asks him. “Since I’m the one who jumps you, maybe I should touch my tongue to yours and two minutes later, you can do the same.”

“Hate kiss—take 2. Action.” Snap.

Sarah repeats her actions—this time, she runs a hand down his chest before kissing him, her tongue lightly touching Jareth’s, before he crushes her to him, feasting on her as if he’s starving. She closes her eyes and moans as his hands entangle into her hair and tilt her head, granting her access. She can feel him stir against her lower stomach…except, Jareth seems a tad bit smaller in size…. _wait a second_ , JARETH?

Turning a shade of cherry red, she jerks herself out of her costar’s grasp—utterly embarrassed. “I am so sorry,” she begins, but an angry Luke interrupts her apology.

“What the fuck, Sarah—that was going well. We are going to have to start from the top—it’s Hamlet who shoves Ophelia away, not the other way around.” Luke focuses on Jonathan. “You need to shove her twenty seconds in—this isn’t a make out session.”

“Hate kiss—take 3. Action.” Snap.

They manage to film the scene to Luke’s liking before calling it a day…it only takes 27 takes before the scene’s all wrapped up.

\--

_(Sarah’s house)…_

She looks at her bruised lips on the vanity mirror before applying a low dose cortisol cream—Luke demanded physical perfection when filming, so she’d have to do her best to get the swelling down.

“Did you enjoy yourself today, _precious thing_?”

She manages to keep from yelping in shock when he materializes onto her overstuffed couch seemingly out of nowhere. Her temper flares—she knows he does that on purpose. “What’s it to you if I did?”

Jareth doesn’t look at her—instead, he conjures up a crystal and holds it to his fingertips. “I saw you, my darling—touching him, holding him—drinking him in.”

 _Drinking him in_? She scrunches her nose—that sounds gross. “Lighten up, Jareth,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “We were both acting—it’s how movies are made. You would know, if you were actually a producer.”

He looks at her then—a look so intense, she shrinks back by reflex. “You kissed him 27 times.”

 _What the fuck? Had his eyes gone dark? Had his face ever looked so frightening before?_ She shivers in response.

“35 if you count all the practice sessions,” she blurts out before she can control herself.

 _You fucking idiot, Williams—why’d you say that?_ But she knows exactly why—she wants to see his reaction, study it. She wants to know why he cares at all.

“ _Sa-rah_ ,” he draws out her name intimately, but his eyes are cold and sharp. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Good grief. Something, possibly her survival instincts, told her not to push him any further. “Filming kissing scenes is awkward okay? The director wants you to _feel_ it, so you have to pretend to be attracted…and sometimes the response is physical. Jon’s married, and it’s damn weird, but it’s something we’re used to.”

The muscles on his shoulders loosen a little. “I don’t understand your profession at all.”

She raises a brow. “It’s a good think you’re not an actor then.” She frowns, thinking of something else. “Have you even read the script? You realize there’s a crazy sex scene happening next—” She stops speaking when she sees him stand up, his movements unnaturally fluid.

He walks up to her, holding her gaze in the mirror, his strides deliberately slow. “Then I suppose you will lose our wager, precious thing. Surely, you can’t win after…having sex…35 times.” His voice is mild, his face impassive, but his tone holds an undercurrent of anger. Cold, lethal anger.

As menacing as he appears, she can’t help but burst out laughing. “We don’t actually have sex, Jareth—it’s simulated.”

“Explain.”

She shrugs. “Nude panties, pasties. Men normally wear something that…you know…keeps it down. Not that there isn’t touching and feeling and biting, but the actual clip in the movie will be a few minutes long.”

Jareth stares at her quietly before his lips curl into a vicious sneer. “Perhaps it’s time I make use of my role as a producer and participate in the filming process.”

Wait—what?

“You’ve got to be joking,” she says…but she may as well be speaking to herself as he’s disappeared.

_Fuck. This had the potential to go down very, very disastrously._

\--

_(Three weeks in)…_

She can’t help but stare at him—her mouth wide open. He sits in a special chair that’s specifically brought out for him—a million different assistants scurry around, trying to get him this and that—as if he’s some kind of god. His uncharacteristically short blond hair is sleeked back, giving him an ‘Old Hollywood’ look. And is he wearing Persol wayfarers?

“Sarah, focus.”

Luke’s short voice shakes her awake. “Yep,” she says, fingering the ties to her robe nervously—damn, Jareth. She can’t help but worry about the havoc he’ll cause.

“Jonathan, you ready?”

Her co-star nods as he takes his position.

“Sarah?”

Gritting her teeth as her assistant unties her robe, she reclines on a settee that’s laid out in a fake living room on set. A slow thrum of lust courses through her veins as her breathing deepens—she wonders if he’s looking at her—almost naked save for a pair of dusted pink bra and panties.

“Wild monkey sex—take 1. Action.” Snap.

Jonathan enters the fake living room, hair disheveled after confronting his mother and uncle. “You should leave,” he says after seeing her, voice raw with emotion.

“Don’t turn me away,” she says, cringing at the added bonus scene that was never in the play to begin with. “Not tonight.” At least the added dialogues were simple enough.

He closes the distance between them in a few desperate steps and…well…the action begins. He lifts her body so that she wraps her legs around his waist before crushing his mouth to hers—slamming her back against the wall.

“Cut!”

The actors look at each other before turning to Luke—they’d done exactly as specified on the script.

“You need to go slower—we’ll freeze a few frames. Sarah—eyes closed, mouth open—we’re selling sex, it needs to be less realistic and more ideal. Get into position…”

The actors regroup. Filming continues for a few more takes.

 “Wild monkey sex—take 8. Action.” Snap.

This time, Sarah does as asked—she throws her head back, opens her mouth wide as if she’s moaning—she makes sure her chest heaves—that her legs are wrapped tightly around Jonathan…oh lord she can feel his hard on even after he’s strapped it down. Damn these sex scenes are awkward.

“Cut!”

“Why?” She can’t help but blurt—“We’re going by the script.”

“If I may…” it’s not Luke who speaks this time. “I don’t believe you are capturing Ophelia’s turmoil well, Ms. Williams.”

_Ms. Williams?_

Sarah tries her best to not glare at her tormenter—who seems to have risen from his makeshift throne, his face free of Persol sunglasses. “Turmoil?” she asks.

A jagged smile. “Oh _yes_ , Ms. Williams,” he speaks slowly, a smile twisting his lips. “Hamlet is obsessed with you and he despises himself for it—and _you_ …you don’t care if he hurts you. You’ll _let_ him hurt you, won’t you?”

The entire studio stands still as they watch the exchange, wide eyed and open mouthed.

Laughing nervously, Sarah tries diffusing the tension that’s built up in the studio. “Not me, personally—Ophelia.”

A small bow. “Of course, Ms. Williams—not _you_. In any case, you’re desperate—you want him to admit how he feels for you—you want him to be rough. You crave his…I wouldn’t say submission…loss of control, perhaps.”

Oh fuck. He’s most certainly not speaking of Hamlet and Ophelia any longer.

Her mouth’s so dry that she has to swallow twice. “Okay—I’ll keep that in mind when filming.”

A flash of teeth—“That’s all I ask.”

 “Okay then, positions everyone. Wild monkey sex—take 9. Action.” Snap.

Jonathan closes the distance between them. Just as he’s about to lift her up, Luke’s irritated voice interrupts them yet again.

“CUT!”

“Now what?” It’s Jonathan who questions Luke this time—he’s normally mild mannered, but these consistent interruptions are beginning to annoy him.

Jareth grins a wicked grin. “My dear Jonathan, I believe Ms. Williams could use some practice…and you could use a demonstration.”

_My dear Jonathan? Practice? Demonstration?_

Sarah jumps up from her seated position, not caring that she’s practically naked. “What do you mean?”

Rich, slow laughter. “Nothing that should cause such panic, Ms. Williams—I only wish to help. Unless, of course, you don’t feel comfortable.”

She shrugs. “This is getting unbearably awkward—the sooner we wrap up the scene, the better.”

A laconic brow. “I take that as a yes?”

She nods.

“Good girl,” he murmurs so softly that only she can hear him. He looks to her costar, “Take note, Jonathan…Luke?”

The director nods. “Position, Sarah. Take a seat, Jonathan.” He pauses until Jareth gets to his position. “Wild monkey sex—practice. Action.” Snap.

She feels his presence before he ever enters the fake living room—she can hear the sound of his shoes click against the floor—heavy, forbidding. The air is charged with unresolved tension.

“You should leave.” His voice isn’t raw but cold as ice—yet…there’s an undercurrent of longing. She knows instinctively that he doesn’t want her to leave.

“Don’t turn me away,” her voice comes out as a hoarse murmur—anticipation clearly evident, along with lust, and something else perhaps. “Not tonight.”

He doesn’t close the distance between them too quickly—no, he savors each step, and when he finally reaches her, he slips one arm around her waist, and entangles the other in her hair. He doesn’t lift her up—instead, he pulls her to a standing position while simultaneously pulling down on her hair—his actions a paradox of seduction and violence.

Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she opens her mouth—expecting him to kiss her. It doesn’t occur to her she’s gone completely off script.

He doesn’t kiss her mouth—not right away. Instead he places open mouthed kisses up her neck and jaw line. His hold on her hair is strong enough to be painful. “You should leave.” He repeats the line, his breath hot against her ear. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

She shudders when she hears the familiar line—an amalgamation of lust and fear making shivers run down her spine. She wraps her legs around his waist, moaning when she feels him hard and ready. “Don’t turn me away,” she whispers. Saying that, she brushes her lips against his, a soft kiss. “Not tonight.”

He crushes his mouth against hers in a devastating kiss—his tongue raids her mouth in slow, languid thrusts and his teeth nip into her lower lip.

A low moan escapes the back of her throat. Her hips undulate against his rock hard—WHAT THE FUCK.

She jumps right out of his embrace and back onto the settee, her face completely crimson with embarrassment. A few seconds longer and she’d have…her blood runs hot and cold…she’d have become a household name that’s for sure. She can almost see the headlines…

_‘Two times Academy Award winner, Linda William’s daughter, actress Sarah Williams has sex with producer in a studio full of people.’_

“That was fantastic!” Luke says, jumping up and down with excitement. He looks at Jonathan—“Do that!”

Jonathan looks around the studio in confusion—his director looks crazed, the producer looks like he wants to swallow his co-star whole, Sarah looks thoroughly embarrassed. “Um…I’ll try,” he says weakly. “But if I do _exactly_ that, I’m sure my wife will ask me for a divorce.”

\--

_(Sarah’s house, later that night)…_

“You sick bastard!” She yells at him, her eyes blazing with fury. “Jonathan started freaking out—he thinks you’re a weird, elfish version of a sexual predator. You can’t behave that way in public!”

The Goblin King grins at his enraged mortal. “Please don’t call me elfish, precious thing. It’s quite degrading.”

Yeah right, probably to elves. “SHUT UP!”

His grin turns wicked. “Did I touch a nerve today?”

“Fuck you!”

“Go right ahead, love. Fuck me as you wish—but be prepared to lose our wager.” His voice is low and sensuous, his eyes dark.

With all her self-control, she tempers down her rage—she scrutinizes him, eyes narrow. “No—I’m going to make sure I win this wager, Goblin King.”

\--

_(Almost four weeks in)…_

“More of ‘I don’t know what I’m doing’ and less of ‘goodbye cruel world.’” Luke instructs Sarah before filming her very last scene. “You’re more exhausted than depressed—everything’s come crashing down and the man you love is…poisonous…and he’s never going to be there for you…and he’s _always_ going to hurt you.”

She nods, squinting against the bright lights and garish green screen. With her fear of heights, she’s glad they’re going with green screen instead of filming on location. “Got it.”

“Positions. Ophelia’s suicide—take 1. Action.” Snap.

She nails it in a few takes.

“And CUT—perfect, that’s a wrap!”

She heads back to her house and takes two large sleeping pills—Luke’s words resonate in her mind and she feels more than a little disturbed.

_…the man you love is…poisonous_

_…he’s never going to be there for you…_

_…he’s always going to hurt you…_

Christ. This whole fake suicide scene was far more depressing than she had thought it’d be. Climbing into bed, she wonders if she’s headed for a nervous breakdown.

“You look positively forlorn, precious thing—why so serious?”

So exhausted is she, that she can’t even bring herself to feel anger at his intrusion. “Go away, Jareth,” she says, pressing a button so that her bedroom blinds are shut. She closes her eyes as her head hits the pillow—the sleeping pills making it such that she’s relaxed, but not quite asleep.

His eyes narrow as he studies the mortal. Four weeks were almost over—she’d win in two days. He’d expected to… _well_ …he’d expected that she would gloat. Instead, she… _hang on_ …is she snoring?

“Sarah?”

-snore-

“Sarah?”

-snore-

“SARAH!”

She jerks awake at that—only partially, as the pills still keep her in a dream like state. “Too tired…talk later. Join-me-if-you-want.” Mumbling those words, she curls up, under the sheets, her crescent shaped lashes sweeping against her cheeks as her eyes fall shut.

The Goblin King just stands there with his mouth open for a few moments—his haughty features aligned to give him a look of surprise. Well…she _had_ said join me—hadn’t she? NO. Bad idea—he’ll deal with her during the review session the next day.

\--

_(Review session, strange, old-fashioned theatre somewhere in LA)…_

“Hello? Luke?” She calls, making her way into the darkened theatre—Luke had called her to an obscure, old school theatre for a review session that occurred when filming concluded for each actor. They’d figure out which scenes required reshooting and dialogue that needed to be dubbed. It’s a tedious process, but standard practice.

These things normally happened within private viewing rooms located within the studio, but Luke had wanted to try something different this time. The theater is small, it only fits 30 people—the seats are quite large and old fashioned, there’s a bit of baroque detailing in the arm rests and light fixtures. The floors are tiled instead of carpeted. She frowns when she notices that there is no screen—this theatre seems to be for plays and not motion pictures.

“What the fuck…” she mutters as she makes her way in, jumping a little when the massive double doors shut behind her. For some unknown reason, her fight or flight, well, mostly flight, instincts kick in and she runs back to the double doors—they’re locked. She takes out her phone from her purse, only to throw it back in frustration—the damned thing’s dead.

The dim lighting makes the room even more ominous, tinged in hues of red and black—the only source of light is the stage—which seems to have a…bed? She walks closer to the stage—every step she takes feels like she’s walking deeper and deeper into a place from which there’s no return.

“Luke, this isn’t funny.” Her voice holds a nervous edge, her jade eyes widen with fear. The closer she gets to the stage, the stranger she feels—the bed is one of those old fashioned ones—made solid wood—carved with menacing figurines. The sheets are off-white, and while it’s a four poster, there is no canopy. Just as she’s about to turn around, she notices it—or them, rather. Are those…restraints?  Manacles for wrists and ankles?

_What in the actual fuck._

Calm down, Williams—there’s a plausible explanation for all of this—maybe you got the theatre wrong—maybe they’ve set up the stage for a play. Weird, freaky sex play. Right—that had to be it. Still—she whirls around a little too quickly for someone in the wrong theatre and runs to the double doors, banging with all her might when she realizes she’s locked in.

After an hour of banging and screaming, she sits down—damn, these chairs are so much more comfortable than normal theatre chairs.

“Hello Sarah—how’re you enjoying the theatre?”

Sarah’s temper flares when she hears his voice— _of course_ , this had to be his doing!

“You?!” she exclaims, standing up with fire in her eyes. She can’t quite see him as it’s too dark, but she can make out a faint silhouette.

Rich laughter. “Me,” he confirms as he walks closer so she can see him—he’s not a producer any longer—no, he’s the Goblin King. Dressed in black leather with silver accents—his silvery gold hair as wild as a lion’s mane, and his eyes ethereal. The lines on his skeletal face are even sharper, as is his frosty gaze.

She can’t help but shiver with very step he takes, part anger, part fear—she can hear his boots click against the floor menacingly. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am seconds away from completely losing it on you.” Her words are angry, but her tone is anxious. She’s suddenly reminded that he’s not some benign entity that pops in and out of her life—he’s a predator who can be very, very dangerous.

“I’m quaking in my boots, _Sa-rah_ ,” he says, sharp teeth gleaming as his face breaks out into full-fledged animalistic smile.

“Why are you here?” She asks, “I thought I won your wager.”

A slow tsk. “How quick you are to congratulate yourself—today remains, you shall win the wager tonight as the clock strikes 12…” he pauses, a smirk forming on his bow shaped lips. “I thought we could make things a little more…interesting.”

And just like that, the theatre goes dark

“Jareth!” she hisses, trying to regain her bearings. There’s a small source of light towards the stage, so she heads there by reflex. “Stop the bullshit. You can’t force me to do anything.”

“Hmm…I suppose not.”

She jumps—his voice sounds way too close for comfort. Whirling around, she glares at him angrily—her heart beats a million times a minute. “What do you want?”

He gives her a smile that would make Lucifer jealous—eyes gleaming, teeth bared. “I wish to reenact a scene, darling girl—you _know_ which one. Instead of the rather uncomfortable settee, we shall use the bed on the stage.”

So she does—but why? “You know there isn’t any actual sex in the scene, right? We kiss and pretend.”

He nods in agreement. “Of course I know it’s all…pretense…silly girl. I’m not entirely happy with your performance during the scene—I’m considering asking for a reshoot.”

Of all the fucking bullshit pretenses—! Her eyes go wild. “This isn’t a joke, Jareth—don’t fucking mess with my career. Or I’ll make you really sorry.” She’ll figure out the how part later.

An elegant shrug. “I’m not laughing, precious thing. Just trying to assess your worth as an actor. I’m allowed to do that as a producer, am I not?”

Oh no, he didn’t. “You’re _not_ a fucking producer—you’re a spoiled brat of a Goblin King who’s hell bent on making me miserable. For what? Revenge?” She’d have kept her temper at bay, but insulting her acting skills hit a little too close to her insecurities.

“Poor darling,” he croons, inching ever so close until he invades her private space…he takes another step, grinning as she takes a step back. “So much anger towards someone who only wishes to help.” He tsks reproachfully when she snorts derisively at his words. “I am trying to help, precious—you’ll be the reigning Queen soon enough. But you must indulge my desires.”

She yelps when she realizes she’s sitting on the bed—bastard had invaded her space, leaving her no choice but to move back. Still—she can’t help but feel a hungry longing when he says reigning Queen—she can’t wait to rule Hollywood. Looking up at the grinning King, she bites her lower lip, wondering if she should give in…if she _can_ give in. “You sure I’ll be reigning Queen?”

A smile that’s almost gentle—it would have been if he didn’t have those teeth. “Of course. All I ask is for a small…rehearsal.”

Yeah right. She rolls her eyes at him. The wheels in her head turn—perhaps she can use this to her _advantage_. After all, he also stands to lose should he…spill himself. She smiles wickedly—thinking of getting the Goblin King to lose control certainly gives her a power rush.

“I’m not sure I like the look on your face, precious.” Jareth eyes her suspiciously—something’s up with Sarah— _but_ _what_?

She tries her best to widen her gaze, making herself look as innocent as possible. “I agree, Jareth—one _practice session_ ,” she says the words with derision—“and I’ll head home.” With that she lifts her oversized sweater over her head and tosses it aside—her eyes intent on his. Aha—she thinks with glee—as his eyes widen a fraction of an inch and a pale pink flush spreads across his sculpted face. She takes off her boots and unzips her tights—slowly—before climbing on the bed and sitting in position.

He can’t wait to kiss the smug expression right out of her face—“Shall we start?”

Nodding her consent, she leans back just a little, making her breasts stand out even more. “Ready when you are.”

Tearing his heated gaze away from her reclining form, he walks to the other end of the stage.

\--

_(On with the show)…_

His shirt is disheveled, belt unbuckled. “You should leave.” His tone isn’t icy like it had been during the previous practice session—it’s terrifyingly sharp.

She gasps—his eyes—oh God—they’re like frozen spheres. “Don’t turn me away,” she murmurs, slowly rising. “Not tonight.” She moves forward to wrap her legs around his waist like in the script, but he steps out of her reach.

Smiling cruelly at her confusion, he lets her sit there, awkwardly for a few seconds before swooping in. With movements too quick for human eyes to follow, he molds his lips against hers—he maneuvers her so that she’s lying on the bed with him on top. It’s a hungry kiss that becomes sexual very quickly—he thrusts his tongue into her mouth, his movements erotically slow, as if he has all the time in the world to just kiss her. His hands encircle each wrist and he holds her hands above her head.

Sarah moans—the feel of his tongue, warm against hers—slow yet aggressive. Her hips thrust upwards automatically and she presses herself over his hard erection—her breasts jut out as she arches into him, begging to be released from her bra. Oh God he feels _so_ fucking good—she almost lifts her hips to rub against him when reality comes crashing down, raining on her sexual parade.

She pulls herself away before screaming, “Jareth!” She struggles against his hands _. Ugh—the bastard—how’s she supposed to make him come without the use of her hands…?_ A certain image pops in her mind and she turns a shade of cherry red. “This isn’t in the script.”

He laughs in response—the sound rumbles low in her abdomen. “No…but it should have been.” His steely grip keeps her in place. And just like that, his eyes glitter ominously. “Should I help you lose, precious thing?”

_What the what? How’d he gone from being devilishly seductive to frightening in a few seconds?_

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, still struggling, “This isn’t funny, Jareth—forcing me to do anything is against the rules and you know it.”

“Hmm?” he questions with a raised brow. “How would _you_ know the rules, darling girl? And even so—I’m not going to force you to do anything.”

She releases a breath in relief.

He grins wickedly. “But I could do… _things_ …to you, until I made sure you lost the wager…again…and again…and again.”

 _Well, fuck_.

“Puh-leeez,” she scoffs—unfortunately, when pushed into a corner, Sarah Williams has the tendency to ‘fake it till you make it.’ It’s not a prudent approach to take when dealing with tricky Goblin Kings—but she’s too far gone. “You think you’re soooooooooooo good, like some kind of orgasm god. As if.”

A graceful frown. “You don’t believe me.”

She rolls her eyes. “People who make as much innuendos as you do probably can’t live up to _any_ expectations. Don’t exhaust yourself Goblin King.” She throws his own words back at him—all dirty like.

“Well,” his tone is deathly calm, his face impassive. “Perhaps I should prove you wrong.”

If Sarah Williams were a National Geographic photographer, she’d know to jump up from the bed and run for her life…unfortunately, as a bit of a bratty actor, she doesn’t recognize any danger signals. So she responds with, “Prove me wrong? Ha—I’d like to see you try.” She’s on a roll and she isn’t likely to stop— _take that, you glitter hogging diva_ —she thinks as she tries delivering another blow to his ego. “I’ll try my best not to swoon as orgasm upon orgasm takes over my body, you glittery bodice ripper wannabe.”

The Goblin King goes very, very still as she speaks—as per the rules, the mortal has issued him a challenge. One he’s too happy to accept. With a little more force than necessary he pulls her wrists, securing them to the manacles on the headboard. He gives her a satisfied smirk when she yelps in protest.

“What the FUCK, Jareth—let me go.” _Stupid, Williams—really fucking stupid—you must have said something stupid enough to allow him to_ —“HEY!” she exclaims when she feels him spread her legs before securing each ankle to a manacle on the bed frame.

He sits up—eyeing his handiwork with satisfaction. “You issued a challenge, precious thing—now you must suffer the consequences…” he laughs—the sound luxuriously slow, “…though, I suppose, _suffer_ isn’t the term I’d use.” His gaze turns absolutely ravenous as he studies her almost naked form. “I suggest you try your best to keep from losing the wager.” With those words, he magically divulges her of her panties and bra, leaving her absolutely naked—in a very, _very_ compromising position.

“Jare—ah,” her eyes roll back as he touches her intimate place and spreads her lips. She struggles against the bonds…this was so wrong…but so fucking hot. She’s at his mercy and he can do anything he wants with her—the thought makes her uncomfortably hot.

Eyeing her reactions with a rather smug expression on his haughty face, Jareth says, “Correct me if I’m wrong—but you did say you’d like to see me _try_ …and I do so hate to disappoint.” he leaves it at that before inserting a finger into her. It’s his turn to groan—she’s so wet—already. _Oh precious, you won’t last long._

“Jareth, this isn’t fair,” she says between moans—the bastard’s pumping two fingers now…she groans…three. She can already feel her muscles clenching in response to his ministrations.

He runs his lips down her neck, her chest—his tongue darts out when he reaches her navel, eliciting a deep, anticipatory moan. He can see that she’s dripping wet—her swollen clitoris peeks out. He leaves the pulsing bud alone. He fucks her with his fingers in slow, shallow thrusts—earning him deeper and deeper moans with each movement. His lips latch onto an already turgid nipple and he applies just the right amount of pressure—and sucks.

She cries out—she can’t help it—the bastard knows exactly how to manipulate her body. Not that she hasn’t given him her consent… _wait a second_ …technically, _had_ she consented? “I never said you could grrrrugh—” her mouth falls open, but her words are garbled as he touches a pleasure spot deep within her walls. 

Entranced by her moans—the way her breasts heave up and down—the way she writhes—his body begins reacting as well. His cock is erect and hard—he can feel moisture gather at the tip. A brief image flashes through his mind—he imagines her kneeling before him, mouth open, tongue swirling around the head of his cock. Oh gods. He thrusts against the mattress, seeking relief. At this rate, he’s going to lose the wager…that too, by humping the damned mattress! Not bloody likely—he doubles his efforts—rubbing a thumb over her clitoris in slow circles.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Fuck, she’s going to lose. And who knows what he’ll do to her—maybe he’ll take her to his castle and tie her up like this and torture her with his mouth— _whoa! Stop girl, don’t think those things_! She forces the image from her mind— _think libido killing thoughts_ — _you need to do something or he’ll will and you’ll lose._

And just like that a lightbulb flashes in her head.

“OH YES……….YES, GOD JARETH……..You’re not _some_ orgasm god, you’re _the_ orgasm god……yesssssssssss.” She makes a great show of thrashing and moaning as she does a whole bunch of Kegel exercises—hoping that’ll convince him.

Sitting up, he frowns—the poor, unfortunate Goblin King can’t help but feel like something’s not quite right. Not that he isn’t sure of his… _talents_ …but her enthusiastic vocal display of adoration is a little too much. “Are you—”

“Ahhhh, don’t speak or you’ll ruin it,” she thrashes some more, hoping he’ll take that as ‘aftershocks.’ She knows he isn’t entirely convinced, so she decides to appeal to his ego. “Oh God, you are so amazing, Jareth—I’ve never felt like that. No man, woman, battery operated device, _or_ a combination of all three, has given me such exquisite pleasure. I should have jumped you the second you walked back into my life.” She realizes, quite disturbingly, that perhaps there’s an ounce of truth to her words.

“A combination of all three? Your sex life sounds exhilarating, precious,” he says, seemingly impressed. “You were a bit of a loner when I met you last.”

She sighs—relieved that he bought it. “I was 15, Jareth—and coming to terms with my father’s second marriage. Anyway,” she grins at him and winks. “This is LA, Goblin King—we like fucking our way around our insecurities.”

A slow, lilting laugh—her sense of humor is refreshing. “We do that in my realm as well…” he looks away, “I’m looking for something different…with you.”

She feels a tightening at her chest when he says this—he sounds so vulnerable. She shakes herself out of that line of reasoning. _You have a job to do, Williams—make the bastard scream your name and win his damned wager!_ “If you untie me, I can return the favor, Jareth,” she says in her best smoldering, film noir heroine voice. “I’ve already lost your game…”

A sudden wave of lust hits his veins—blood rushes to his groin. He’d been so sexually frustrated for the last four weeks, he’d started helping his domestic staff in the kitchen to keep himself distracted. He nods—letting her loose—caressing the slightly bruised skin on her wrists and ankles.

 _You’re so going down, GK_ —she thinks with wicked delight. “Are you game enough to get tied up, Jareth?” This time, she uses her teasing voice—light and fluffy—it’d worked wonders throughout her 20s. She winks as she sees him hesitate, “Not afraid of little old me, are you?”

He barks out a throaty laugh—the minx was too enticing for her own good. “Very well, precious thing,” he says, lying on his back and raising his hands over his head. “Do your worst.”

“I will,” she murmurs, taking off his shirt button one by one—she unzips his pants and pulls the garment down. He’s still half dressed—the shirt only exposes his chest, and the pants are scrunched up below his knees. His erection stands tall—his cock is red and purple, a thick, pearly white liquid gathers at the head. He looks like a feast for her taking…and take him, she will… _slowly_.

He groans as she takes him with her mouth—but not all of him. The minx starts out by sucking the head of his cock, her fingers caresses the shaft tightly. Her wicked, wicked tongue is torturously hot—she uses her other hand to massage his testicles.

“Sarah…” he hisses out his pleasure as she uses a hint of teeth—his hips start bucking into her welcoming mouth. Were his hands free, he would have held her in place while he took his pleasure, taking care not to be too rough—but he’s helpless—bound before her.

After an excruciating ten minutes of teasing, she takes him fully into her mouth, her lips sucking him until his groans get more strangled and his thrusts get more frantic.

“Sarah, stop.” His voice is as rough as his breathing.

She raises her brows— _dammit_! She was so close to winning!

“What?” she asks, genuinely curious—he’d blue balled himself.

“I didn’t want to finish in your mouth—not sure if that’s something you’d want.”

She responds by flashing him a smile and taking him back in her mouth, whole. She doesn’t let him go until releases himself in hot streams. She drinks him in with her eyes—his head thrown back—hair wild—eyes glazed with pleasure.

It takes a while for his breathing to normalize—he eyes her through his lashes, noticing she looks incredibly pleased with herself…well…her skill are quite considerable….so he supposes she should look pleased. Still—something’s not quite right. Vanishing his bonds into the ether, he sits up. “What’s going on, precious?”

It’s Sarah’s turn to give him a most shifty, feline grin. “You’ve lost, Your Majesty.”

He frowns. “Explain yourself.”

 _Explain yourself_? Damn—his battle ready, commanding tone was back.

She grins even wider. “It’s before midnight and you came quite hard, Jareth—you lose.”

A piercing stare. “So did you—first. You lost.”

It’s Sarah’s turn to laugh most maddeningly. “Uh… _fake_! I’m guessing you’ve never seen When Harry Met Sally, have you?” She winks at him—“Should have done some research on movies before becoming a producer, Your Worship. Now make me the reigning Queen of Hollywood like you promised.”

And just like that the tables turn—she feels a cold sensation—and then she feels dizzy—her muscles feel languid—her vision turns black.

\--

_(Jareth’s chambers—his castle)…_

When she regains her bearings, she knows instantly where he’s taken her. “What the HELL?” She notices he’s taken the bed as well—must have been his bed to begin with.

He stands, keeping himself a good distance away from the incensed mortal—she looks ready to chop his balls off. And he’d rather keep them. “I’m fulfilling my promise, precious—you shall be the reigning Queen, while I shall be your slave.”

“WHAT?” She jumps up, not caring that she’s naked, and glares at him. “You said reigning Queen of Hollywood—not _your_ fucking Queen.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I never used the term Hollywood, my darling mortal—that is your term.”

She gapes. “But what about making me a goddess in the capricious world?”

A half-hearted shrug. “That film of yours will do amazingly and you will receive all the accolades you desire—unfortunately, you may not be able to receive them because… _well_ …” he flashes her a heated look. “I intend to keep you busy.”

_What-the-fuck. What-the-fuck. What-the-fuck._

“Erm…hold up…everything’s confusing,” she tries playing dumb while she decides the next course of action.

It doesn’t work.

He circles her slowly—his movements as graceful as they are intimidating. “Allow me to simplify things for you…” tangling his long fingered hands into her hair, he kisses her as if he’s starving. “You’ve won, precious thing,” he says when they break apart for air. “More importantly, you’ve won _me_ —and I will _exhaust_ myself every single moment, living up to your expectations…however _sordid_ they may be.”

\--

The atrocious adaptation of Hamlet does insanely well—leaving Sarah wondering, ‘just how strong is Jareth’s magic?’ She’s wins a few important awards, some non-important ones. She definitely becomes a ‘living goddess’ as she disappears from public view.

The headlines read:

“Academy Award winner Sarah Williams, daughter of actress Linda Williams, mysteriously disappears after filming, what’s becoming known as the most famous movie of all time.”

\--

Fin.

\--

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trust J to win even though he loses. (My thoughts on J being from Venice posted on my Tumblr account – batesybates—scroll down a few posts). I don’t do holiday stories—but may do a tangent one shot set in the Junior Editor universe, let’s see.
> 
> This has been in my folder for a long time. Would have made a decent multi-chapter fic but too time consuming. And I’m sure Dark Court and Antithesis readers would turn murderous. I published it now coz I could use a laugh.
> 
> My grandmother passed away a few days ago—she was quite old and ill, not unexpected—still…not that easy to process. The woman spoiled me rotten—got me all my princess dresses, a Barbie dream house, Barbie car, Barbie motorcycle, Barbie vanity set, Barbie swimming pool—and pretty much all my Little Mermaid merchandise (which was A LOT of stuff).
> 
> Young peeps—when the elderly fall ill, they can pass away quite quickly—so spend time with grandparents. Don’t take them for granted.
> 
>  


End file.
